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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22882009">OXYGEN || RYAN ROSS &amp; JESSE RUTHERFORD</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/lipstickboys'>lipstickboys (orphan_account)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco, Twenty One Pilots</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abuse, Anorexia, Anxiety, Bulimia, Cocaine, Consensual Underage Sex, Depression, Drug Addiction, Drugs, Eating Disorders, Gay, Heroin, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Past Sexual Abuse, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Drugs, Rehabilitation, Rough Sex, Self-Harm, Sex Addiction, Smoking, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 10:00:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,038</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22882009</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/lipstickboys</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan goes back to rehab for the second time after his boyfriend, Brendon, dies of a heroin overdose. He has a hard time remembering Brendons face after time passes. He chooses on taking his own life in which, his best friend saves his life. He goes back to rehab and falls for a staff member who he can't stop comparing to Brendon.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Brendon Urie/Dallon Weekes, Jesse Rutherford/Ryan Ross, Ryan "Van" McCann/Ryan Ross, Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie, Ryan Ross/Dallon Weekes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. CONVERSATION</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bowie/gifts">Bowie</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sammie/gifts">Sammie</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emma/gifts">Emma</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This book will be very triggering and will talk about topics ranging from homophobia to suicide. Please take care of yourself. I've lost someone to suicide and it's very hard to explain what it feels like. This isn't to glorify suicide and drug use. There will be two other books following this. Enjoy.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Ryan, forgive me</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I love you more than words can describe. I want to apologize to you for this. I'm sorry I never talked to you about how I was feeling. I just didn't want you to worry. I'm really sad, Ryan. I truly am and I don’t want to burden you anymore. I know that you're going to find me. And though I don't know how you're going to react. I just hope it won’t be poorly. I doubt you'll react well but I also doubt it would be better if I was still there.</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>I've been thinking about this for a long time, this feeling has always been in the back of my mind lingering. The drugs aren't fixing my sadness neither is the sex. I’m so sorry. I love you so much but I’m just so tired of feeling like this. This isn't your fault, please don't keep blaming yourself for the rest of your life. You can't, alright. I’m going to be happy again. I promise. Maybe death is worse than this but I’m just going to hope it isn't. I love you. You're truly the most extraordinary person I have ever met and I am glad to have known you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You are the absolute light of my life. And to hurt you like this strikes me with pain. But I can't keep doing this anymore. It hurts so bad, Ryan. I know you understand the suffering. You can't kill yourself because of this. You just can't…. Please. Don't let me control how you live. You're too beautiful. I promise we’ll see each other again. Maybe not soon. But we will. I’ll be right behind you through all of the shit you'll go through. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But don't give up on us. Don't give up on Dal either. He loves you too, you know that. Take care of him and he’ll take care of you when I am finally gone and I am no longer in your presence. Take care of yourself too, Ryan. I adore you. Please stop the drugs. I don't like watching you shove a needle in your arm leaving scars of guilt only to drink whatever you can get your hands on to forget about it. You would probably drink rat poison if someone put it in front of you just out of a desperate need for a high. It hurts to watch you ruin your body and brain, Ry. It hurts even worse worrying about your future. If going back to rehab is what you need then please Go back. If not for you do it for me. Who knows. Maybe you’ll meet someone good for you there.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I must say one last time I love you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Love, </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>               Bren</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I don't understand. What did I do wrong? Why is he dead? That’s because of me. Because I didn't fix him. I should have tried harder. I should have--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But I didn't. Whatever I</span>
  <em>
    <span> should </span>
  </em>
  <span>have done, whatever I </span>
  <em>
    <span>could </span>
  </em>
  <span>have done, wouldn't have been enough. My body seems to have gone numb, looking at him. He's had the ‘I'm starving and lifeless’ stature. Even when I met him in March. He was beautiful regardless. Was. I don't like that thought. I fell in love with him the moment I looked at him.  He looks beyond lifeless. He's on his back, staring at the ceiling, his eyes had clouded over. Nothing. There was absolutely nothing left inside of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did you do to yourself.” I make my way over to his bed. Our bed. I don't get a response. His lips are blue. I feel sick. I look over, the needle still stuck in his arm. Fucking idiot. I wish I could be surprised. I’m not. It was just a matter of time before he overdosed. I'm holding his note too tightly in my hand. I need to leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sit on my couch, downstairs. Our house doesn't feel right anymore. When he was here it was never quiet. I pick up my phone. I dial 911. He's not coming back. I know that. Dallon was-- Where the fuck was Dallon? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once I get off the phone with the police, I call Dallon. “Yello, what’s up?” I don’t answer for a little while.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brendon overdosed. He's dead in our room.” My voice stays monotone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What…?” He didn't know how to react.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He overdosed on heroin.” Dallon hangs up. I'm not reacting yet. I stay sitting there until the police get there. Actually, I don’t even move. A woman comes over slowly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hon?” I stare at the floor considering that it seemed to be more interesting than talking. “Are you his boyfriend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s upstairs.” She looked over at more paramedics. I think.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>♡</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I've read the letter over and over again. Looking for something. I don't know what, exactly. Why did he leave if I don't get to? My senior year is barely over. I haven't been to school in a while. I should go back. Dallon comes over a lot. He's worried. He thinks I'm reacting more than Brendon would have wanted me to. I tell him to shut the fuck up and leave me alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Monday. September 27th. I've decided to go to school today. I somehow get myself out of bed. I somehow make my way to school. I walk in. I feel nothing. Noah spots me, running over. His hair grew a bit since I disappeared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Today has been a mixture of apologies and ‘I hope you feel better.’ I nodded and smiled at them. Oliver specifically told me that if I needed anything, to ‘please come to him.’ My chest hurts. So bad. I don’t know if I feel anything. It's hard to tell. I end up going home with Dallon instead of by myself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dal. Please?” Dallon has drugs. He won't give them to me. In fact, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>refuses</span>
  </em>
  <span> to give me drugs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ryan, listen. You’ll overdo it.” I shake my head, putting my hand up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I won't!” I probably will. And it'll feel good. And I'll be okay again. Maybe I’ll die. I already feel like I’m dying. I feel pathetic. He sighs, grabbing something from his bag. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A few hits. That's it. Enough to relax you.” I don't know what's in it. It could be just weed but it also could be laced. I wouldn't complain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After around five hits, well after Dallon got angry and took it from me, and I chose to just lay down on my bed. He pities me. Dallon. I wish he wouldn't. I haven’t had sex since Brendon's death. I feel like I'm suffocating from the lack of touch, drugs, and alcohol. Dallon still sees that I’m barely eating. He tries his best to get me to eat. I refuse completely. Dallon told me to just try and breathe for once. He keeps telling me, ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>you don’t need sex to feel something. You don't need drugs to feel something. You don't need alcohol to feel something.</span>
  </em>
  <span>’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But I do. I scrunch up my face and then open my mouth wide, ignoring the slight pain in my jaw. I've been grinding my teeth at night. I never did that when Brendon was around. If I thought hard enough I could remember what he felt like. His skin. His hair. If I thought hard enough I could remember what he tasted like. But, I can't. I just can't. My mind isn't letting me think too hard about him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Him. Him, him, him. When I met him in March, he always was a fucking asshole. He made fun of the fact that I hated to speak in front of the other guys. He did everything I couldn't. Dallon would envy him. Even if he didn't admit it, he was. Dallon looked at him the way I did. Brendon stood up for me. When Elijah or Andrew hurt my feelings, he’d tell them to shut the fuck up. But he was still rude to me. He told me ‘whenever you speak, I gag’. He continued to speak to me. He was never good at showing or giving love.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He said </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘I love you’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>a matter of 7 times since we met. He didn't like saying that, I don't think. I would usually say it first but I decided to wait for him. The last thing he said to me was that I love you. I'm glad it was. I remember the first time we met. He was dancing on a table-- for whatever reason. Andrew told him to get off the table and Brendon told him to suck his dick. And he just laughed. He thought he was the funniest person he’s ever met. His smile was my favorite thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His teeth were beyond perfect. If he laughed hard enough, he would place his hand on my shoulder and would bend over and just laugh. I memorized every time he put his hand on my shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ry?” I shoot up, looking at Dallon. “You're crying.” he frowns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I touch my face. I guess I am. “I miss him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>♡</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dallon is on the phone with me, going on about how I’m ruining my body again. Again, again and again. That was already happening. I need something. It hurts so bad. All of it. “Ryan, I love you so much, it hurts me to see you doing this to yourself.” He had finally let me love him and he's gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I feel weak. It's hard to breathe. “It’s okay, I’m okay, Dal.” I finally got drugs. And I feel better. I feel relaxed now. I hang up and just lay down on my back. My face feels numb. I prefer that over the pain in my jaw. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m still grinding my teeth. I keep having dreams about him. Really graphic ones. Some about him killing himself in other ways. What if he’d bled out? What if he hung himself? What if he drowned himself? I would have walked in on him. Last night specifically, I dreamt about him lighting the house on fire. Why would he do that? He wanted to burn himself alive, he burned himself alive. I think he lit a match and just-- did it. I didn't get there in time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If I had just gotten there in time. But I didn't. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I had a dream about him slitting his throat in front of me. I didn't do anything. I just watched it. He started gasping for air, not being able to get enough in. He stared at me the entire time, his hand going to his throat. There was so much blood. I couldn’t fucking move. My legs didn’t work. He was just sitting in a chair. Before I woke up he kept repeating how I could have done something. How it was my fault. How I should have been there. I wasn't. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can't go back in time. If I could, I would in an instant. Nothing in this house is the same. We have this stupid painting of something that Brendon nor myself could even tell what it was but Brendon loved it so much. So we got it. He used to smile at it for some reason. Those were happy memories. But they aren't anymore. They are sad and bleak. It feels like you're trying to read a language you don't understand. It doesn't make sense and I feel like I’m spinning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His face is fading. I don't want to look at photos. Every dream his face gets more and more distorted. His face looks so different. My brain has made up some version of him that isn't real. Was I enough for him? What the fuck was going through his mind? His smile isn't there anymore. Sometimes he doesn't have a mouth in the dreams. Like he couldn't get what he wanted out before he did it. He obviously didn't.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dallon. Listen, I’ll see you at school tomorrow. Alright?” I think this is it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you, Ry.” I sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you too, D.” I end the call, curling up onto my side. He’s gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>♡</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He died from heroin. Why can't I? I got to school, sitting in class listening to Carter and Alex bitch to each other about the teacher. I can’t focus. Noah's eyes are on me. I feel him. Dallon was somewhere. He should be in this class. He's concerned for me. </span>
</p><p><span>“Andrew,” Carter whispers. He looks up from his paper. “Can you come and sit over here, Please?” I’m going to miss Andrew. He doesn’t deserve this.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Bye! Call me later!” Carter smiles at me, kissing my cheek before starting to walk off.</span></p><p>
  <span>“Love you.” I smiled and he signs ‘I love you’ as he’s walking away. He's so beautiful. And I have to leave him. I have to leave everyone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’ll be okay again soon.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. FALLOUT</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The psych ward scene really only lasts a chapter and a half (at most) but I wanted to add it anyway.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Ryan, what's going on?” Dallon was scared. I could hear it in his voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing is going on, Dallon.” I just thought I should talk to him first. Before I leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not an idiot.” I sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. I love you.” I hang up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>♡</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I've decided to slit my wrists instead. Maybe that would be better. I’m sitting in my bathtub, which I didn't fill. It was comfortable. I’m staring at my wrist. Fuck. I hear my door open. Then Dallon’s voice, yelling for me. Asking where I was. I need to do it. I put the blade to my wrist, slowly dragging down and hissing. That fucking hurts. I’m bleeding. I’m bleeding a lot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dallon bursts in, panting hard. I start to go to my other wrist, my hands shaking violently. He starts shaking his head quickly, rushing over. He's saying something that I can't understand. But I do make out him saying “No, no, no-” repeatedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I try and get away from him. I try to tell him to leave me alone. Let me go. He puts his hand on my forehead, we make eye contact. He runs out. He comes back with a belt. I can't get away from him. He gets me out of the bathtub. His hand sliding under my arms, pulling. I can't hear him but I know he's crying. I know he's freaking out. He sits against the wall, putting me between his legs, back against his chest. He pulls his shirt off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes the belt, tightening it around my forearm, further back than where I cut. He starts to use his shirt to press against my arms, trying to soak up the blood. “Ry? Hey.” I look up at him, he kept his other hand on my head. Grabbing his phone quickly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dallon. Don't.” I shook my head. I’m not sure why he's trying so hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He's talking to the police, rushing words out. He stays on the phone with them, trying to keep me awake. He starts combing his fingers through my hair. Every time I shut my eyes he pinches me hard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, he had to show up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>♡</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wake up, blinding myself by looking at the hospital lights. I’m alone in this hospital room. Where is he? Where is Dallon? I won’t be able to contact Bella, Noah or Jordan. They’ll probably find out soon enough anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I look down, staring at the I.V. in my arm, following the tube with my eyes to see the I.V. bag. I put my hand on my forehead. It's too bright in here. Everything is white. The beeping from my heart monitor is all I can focus on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Ryan, you're awake.” A nurse walks in, smiling at me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I see my friend?” I want Dallon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. What's the last name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Weekes.” She nodded, walking out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smell of a hospital is like home to me. Especially when Brendon had an OD every two weeks. It doesn't mean I like it. It's like the smell of cigarettes. It’s home to me. But I still hate it. I never really took up cigarettes. Brendon did not smoke around me which I appreciated. But he's dead now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wait. I’m fucking alive. I want to throw up at the thought. I feel sick. I'm alive. In a hospital room. My arm is wrapped. Dallon walks in, shaking. He looks as if he's been crying. His eyes are red and puffy, his hair's a mess. He still has the same clothes on. His shirt is soaked in blood. I'm not wearing my clothes anymore, instead, a blue hospital gown I think. He looks like a train hit him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has a flannel in his hand. It was Brendons. He gave it to Dallon. The nurse leaves, shutting the door behind her. He walks over and hugs me. “Don't ever do that again. Please. God, Ryan.” I don't really hug back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn't leave.” He pulls back, laying the flannel over my lap which I pick up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I didn’t fucking leave.” He brushes my hair out of my face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wasn't this Brens?” He nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have some of the other clothes that he gave to me. I want you to have that one. I know you don't ever wear short sleeves without something covering your arms. And I wanted you to have something Brendon and I both wore.” He sits down on my hospital bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s soft. I bring it to my face. Dallon looks heartbroken. I’m sure he is. “Thank you.” I nod.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They might send you away again, you know?” I shrug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I figured.” What the fuck else would they do?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know how much I love you. Right?” He raises his eyebrows. I look at him. His hand is on my knee over the blankets. He needs to make sure I don't go anywhere. Physical touch. Brendon did that too when he was scared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably not.” I try and smile. “I know you love me, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you more than words can describe. No amount of words can describe how much I love you.” He's trying not to cry. I don't like seeing him this sad. Because I was the one who caused it, his pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Dallon.” He knows I am. He crawls under the sheets with me, pulling me to his chest. He’s crying. Even if he doesn't want to say that he is, I know it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span> don't leave me.” He kisses the top of my head. He doesn't have a family. His parents won’t let him see his siblings. Brendon is gone. He's attached to me and that’s why he’s so hurt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'm here. Right? I'm here right now.” His body heat makes me realize how cold I actually am. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You almost died, Ryan. You almost died in my arms. God, you looked so fucking lifeless. And when I was on the phone with the cops, you were staring at me. I was so scared. You started crying when the paramedics showed up. You were begging me not to let them take you away. Do you remember that?” I shake my head. “You had become more and more pale with every minute we sat there. I thought you were going to die. I thought that was the last thing I would experience with you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t think you’d come.” I sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you didn't. But something was off. I felt it from the way you were speaking to me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You're so good to me. I’m sorry. I'm so sorry.” He nods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>♡</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sleep. I could do with a good 24 hours of sleep. I would enjoy that greatly. Dallon had to go home. He can't keep missing school for my unstable ass. They haven't given me my clothes yet. I have the flannel. It’s comforting-- but I still miss my fucking clothes. They said they're looking for a bed for me somewhere. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's around 3 in the morning when someone comes to tell me that they are transporting me to somewhere close. They tell me they need to take the flannel from me. For fuck’s sake. They say that I’ll get it when I get to the other hospital. I just roll my eyes and listen. My wrist hurts tremendously. They put me on a stretcher, gave me a blanket and strapped me down. I choose to just try and sleep on the way there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ryan, sweetheart, we’re here.” I opened my eyes. What was that? Ten minutes? At the most? It's cold outside. I hate living in Ohio. I miss Nebraska. That would be Dallon and Brendon’s fault. It's so humid when it’s warm. They start rolling me in, going through different doors. The noise of children crying is so fucking obnoxious. I rub my eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What hospital is this?” I look at her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ohio State Harding.” I don't know where I am. I was at one other hospital since I moved to Ohio. That was for about a week and I went home. I threatened to kill myself and Dallon wasn’t about to let that happen so he sent me to the hospital. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” I nodded, trying not to focus on my wrist. Once we get into a closed-off space, pictures on the walls. I hear the click of the door behind me. The paramedics start unbuckling the straps. They help me crawl out of the stretcher. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A nurse walks up to me, smiling. “I’m Mia.” I nod. I don't want to be here. I want to be dead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Ryan.” I look around. “Do I have to do any paperwork right now? It’s really late and I’m tired.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. We do.” Of course, we do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>♡</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have insurance?” I shake my head. ’s parents are paying everything for me. I have a well-paying job. Brendon’s family was always rich and they accepted me into their family easily and treated me like I was apart of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My boyfriend's parents. They're going to pay for me.” She nodded. I haven't called Brendon my ex. He's not. He's my boyfriend. He's just gone for right now. Not forever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright.” The nurse nodded. I get asked the same questions over and over again. I’m tired of this. Of feeling like this. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>♡</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I don't have a roommate. Which I appreciate. During breakfast, I just make myself a bowl of cereal and stare at the puffs floating in the milk. I’m not hungry. I look around. There are four girls and two guys, not including myself. A few of them look like drug addicts. I looked at one of the guy’s arms, seeing bruises. I hum.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ryan, may I see you?” I look up at a nurse. I think her name was Mia? I get up, following her into another room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s up.” I look around. The room is small and smells of candy. Huh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We just have to go over everything that happened leading up to the attempt.” I nod. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My boyfriend died of a heroin overdose. My depression got worse. I slit my wrists.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was your boyfriend's name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brendon. We met in rehab back in March. We were attached at the hip after a few days. Dallon, my best friend,-- who I met in rehab. He had turned eighteen there and his parents told him they don't want contact. My parents found out I was gay and disowned me. I'm almost seventeen. Brendon had just turned nineteen when we got out. I had nowhere to go so he said that I should move in with him. He had his own house. His parents were rich and always so good to me. I moved to Ohio once I got out to live with him and Dallon moved to an apartment and we all started going to the same school. Brendon was a full-time sex and drug addict. He introduced me to more and more sex. I became addicted to it as well. I've always been into hard drugs. I've always had an eating disorder.” I shrug. “I was sexually abused as a child on a regular basis. I had a shit childhood and I started drinking when I was very little and got ahold of drugs easily. Is that all you need to know?” She blinks. I know for a fact that I won’t stop getting asked questions if I don't explain everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, wow. I'm sorry for your loss.” I shrug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well. I can't exactly </span>
  <em>
    <span>go back in time</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Now, can I.” I need to get some fucking sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I apologize for what's been going on, Ryan.” She frowns. She genuinely looks sorry for me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That's just fine. Thank you, Mia.” I clenched my fist not to itch my wrist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah. Let’s go change your bandages.” She smiles, standing up. “We can go do a drug test and a blind weight also. Alright?” I grit my teeth. My favorite.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know that I have drugs in my system, though.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just protocol.” Of course. Just protocol. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This round is going to be a lot worse than the first.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. FLUCTUATE</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Things move fairly quick but I don't really like slow moving books :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I’m Mila. Pronounced Me-la.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ryan. Nice to meet you.” She nodded. She's a fairly attractive younger girl, long brown hair, skinny, freckles, her bangs hanging in front of her eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’re you here for?” I sigh. I lift my arm up, showing her my wrapped wrist. Her eyes widened. “Is it bad?” I shrug. Is it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My best friend was there. He called 911.” I feel awkward. Its ‘free time’ which makes this feel like preschool. Fuck this. She had offered to play a game of cards which I didn't refuse. Sounds nice anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’re you here for?” My turn to ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I tried to jump off of a building. Someone grabbed me.” I had never thought about that method. Well, not a lot. That for some reason scares me the most next to burning to death.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you live around here?” She nods. “Me too.” Why is it so difficult for me to make conversation? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gabby!” I hear laughing from who I assume is Gabby. The nurse isn't very happy, running down the hall. “Penny! Please come get her!” Another nurse got up, jogging down the hall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gabby has been here for a month, I think. Due to schizophrenia. She doesn't really interact with us very much.” I hum, looking around at other kids. “That's Lily. She's here for an OD. That’s Alex, he’s here for suicide intent-- well, that’s what he said. That's Remy, he's here for self-harm. And that's William. He's here for anger issues.” I nod. Alex looks nice. I think I’ll just stay around Mila probably.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What's your story?” I look at her, trying to figure her out. After being in different treatment facilities and a rehab facility, most residents don't mind sharing shit like that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want a short run down or a long one?” I think for a minute. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me as much as you want.” That's probably a nice thing to do. And getting to talk feels nice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, if you say so. As a child, I kind of wasn't around my family. My parents didn't really care about me. I only dealt with self-harm. I wasn't abused or anything. But I wasn't loved. I didn't go to school. I was around a lot of drugs since I was a baby but I stayed away from them out of fear. Drugs scare me. I did have one friend, his name was Eli. I had known him for years and years and his parents let me stay at his house when shit was really bad at home. He passed a month or two back. He ended up in a car crash. I just kind of fell to shit. And now I'm here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something similar happened to me. With someone that you love dying and you kind of --, You don't feel anything. Right?” She nodded. I have no room to feel sorry for her. I have no room to feel sorry for anyone or myself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What's your story?” I hum.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My dad has been abusive since age four, I've been cutting since six. I ended up getting an eating disorder when I was fifteen after my dad broke my tailbone and I couldn't go to track so I stopped eating a lot to keep my weight down. It ended up getting bad really quick. I tried to kill myself when I found out I couldn’t do track for a year. I started doing drugs at eleven, I think. I was in and out of psych wards. I went to rehab back in March and met a guy named Brendon and a guy named Dallon. Brendon was a sex addict, drug addict, self-harm addict. Most things. He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. He genuinely loved me, even if he didn't say it very much. He overdosed on heroin a month-ish ago. I've been having a rough time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sucks. Sorry about that.” I nod. I like her. I look over to the door when I hear my name being called.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ryan? You want a phone call?” I nod, getting up. Dallon. I miss him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I dialed his number, waiting for him to pick up. He does it quickly. “Hey.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, Dal.” I sit down, smiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Hey, Ry.” I hear him smiling. “How are you doing?” I sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine? It's not really that different than the other hospitals. Did you talk to Grace and Boyd?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. They want to send you somewhere.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like where?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There's a place in California.” I rub the bridge of my nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure they're willing to pay for me? I don't want them to feel like they have to.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'm sure. They love you like a son and they really can't lose another son.” Fair enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell them that I said thank you.” I play with a loose string on Brendon’s flannel that they finally gave me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course. I can't really stay on the phone for long. But please call me tomorrow or the next day. Alright? I love you, Ry.” He doesn't sound very happy. I'm not very surprised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you too. Be safe please.” He hangs up. I sighed shakily. Putting the phone down. I’m so fucking tired.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>♡</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can't get myself to sleep. It’s been four days since I’ve been here. Mila and I are friends and I appreciate it. My body hurts. I somewhat had slowed down on the drugs after Brendon’s death. I didn't completely stop but it wasn't as bad. So I’m not doing that awful. I'm just in a lot of pain and I’ve thrown up a few times since I’ve gotten here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I should be leaving soon. I've never really enjoyed hospitals. They make me feel uneasy and somewhat sick. My arm hurts like a bitch and I try not to look at them but I feel like I have to. I shouldn't have called him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He's still in my dreams. All the time. It's getting less graphic which is nice. I'm just laying in bed, staring at the ceiling. I hear a knock on the door. I roll onto my side, away from it. Someone walks in and I hear footsteps, stopping at the edge of my bed. I don't care enough to see who it is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ryan.” I sit up quickly, my eyes wide. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brendon?” He smiles, leaning down and hugging me tightly. I can't let go of him. I can't. Not again. He sits down next to me, looking at my wrist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would you do that?” I shrug. He takes my wrist from me, slowly unwrapping it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I miss you.” I miss him so much. I miss him so fucking much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wraps his fingers around my wrist, the pads of his fingers pressing into the cut on my wrist. “You shouldn't have done it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brendon. You're hurting me.” I try and pull away and he doesn’t let me. He keeps going pressing. “Stop, Brendon, please stop doing that.” He doesn't.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You hurt Dallon. You’re fucking selfish, Ryan.” What the fuck is he doing? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fucking stop! You’re fucking-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should have died.” I can't breathe. He suddenly has his hands around my throat tightly, my fingers around his wrists. And I can't breathe. I started trying to kick and grab or scream but I couldn't get myself to move or yell. My hands and arms feel wet with what I assume is blood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I suddenly get woken up by someone. I’m screaming, gasping for air. My hands are around my throat, wheezing and coughing. There’s a nurse sitting next to me, trying to pull them off. I let go. “Hey, Ryan. You're okay. There's nobody here beside me. Okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I look at my wriists and they're bleeding. I guess I dug my fingers into them. “Where is he?” I look around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who?” She gets up to turn the light on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brendon.” She shakes her head, slowly making her way back over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brendon’s not here, Ryan.” He was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>♡</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next day I find out I’m getting transferred to California. The dream I had last night is still scaring me. Why was he trying to hurt me? I don't understand. I’m sitting in the car, getting driven to the airport with Dallon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry I have to take you.” I shrug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s whatever. I’ll live.” I guess the flight is around four and a half hours and I'm not happy about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls into the airport parking lot. He can't come. The rehab only paid for me to go. Not two. I probably won't be able to see him for the next few months. We sit there, not talking for a while.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be careful. I don't want you to get hurt. I really don't want to lose you.” He sounds like he's going to cry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won't. I’ll keep myself safe.” His eyes land on my neck. “What?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened to your neck?” I haven't told him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I choked myself in my sleep last night.” My neck isn't that red or anything but its noticeable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Ryan.” He frowns. “Was it about him?” I nod. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He tried to really hurt me. Maybe even kill me.” I stare at my hands. Why would he want to do that?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He wouldn't have done that to you.” He shakes his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don't know that.” I rub my neck unintentionally. I look at the time. “I gotta go. I’ll try and call soon. Be safe.” I leaned over and kissed his cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want a hug.” He gets out of the car when I do. He's not holding it together very well. He lifts me up and I wrap my legs around his waist along with my arms. He's so fucking worried. He's so so so worried. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you. I'll keep myself safe.” He nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you will. I love you too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>♡</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My legs hurt from sitting in the middle of two middle-aged men. I'm standing outside of the airport. Now in California, with my bag. I was told that someone was going to pick me up. I look down at my phone. A blue van? That's not helpful. The guy has dark hair, a shit load of tattoos, tall, sunglasses. That's what I was told. His name is… I already forgot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ryan!” I look over to see who I think is the guy who works at the facility. He smiles, jogging to me. I look him over. Looks around twenty-three? Maybe? He’s attractive, to say the least. He has a nice smile. Not as pretty as Brendons.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck. I'm doing it again. Comparing every somewhat attractive guy to Brendon. “That’s me.” He holds his hand out, I hesitate before shaking. He has a lanyard on that says ‘Jess’ in bold, black letters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Jess. It's nice to meet you.” He pulls his hand back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jess. Jess, Jess, Jess.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. LONGSHOT</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jess is beautiful. His name is probably something more than just ‘Jess.’ As we’re driving he's asking me questions about where I’m from, if I've been to California, how old I am, etc. I mention Dallon. “Oh, if you wanna tell me about him, you can.” I smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He's a friend that I met in rehab the first time I went. He's really pretty. And he has these gorgeous eyes. Tall. Well, probably not tall next to you. He's probably like, a few inches taller than you.” He's smiling. I can't tell if he's bullshitting me or not. “He takes care of me cause my family doesn’t want contact with me anymore after I came out as gay.” I'm debating if I want to try and sleep with him. He's really attractive and seems really nice. However, he's probably way older than me. And a staff member.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'm sorry about your parents. Nobody deserves that. Do you have a boyfriend?” He looks over. I shake my head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He's dead.” He swallows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god. I'm so sorry, Ryan.” He frowns. Making a left turn onto a long dirt road.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He was good to me.” I text Dallon quickly, telling him that I have to go soon and that I</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m safe. I am safe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can share as much as you want about him with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“His name was Brendon. Really soft, black hair. Kinda short. Beautiful smile. I enjoyed that the most. He never really showed much love. I think he was just really scared. He had an awful childhood. Really shitty. He hated opening up to anyone. But, one day he suddenly just-- started talking. He told me everything. Why he started doing drugs, why he became a sex addict, why he cut and why he drank alcohol. Everything. He overdosed on heroin.” It’s not getting easier to talk about him. Jess looks like he actually feels bad for me. Really? Does he?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you bring any pictures of him with you?” I nod. Well, Dallon packed them for me. I haven't looked at any of them yet. I look at my backpack, reaching down and unzipping the pocket Dallon put his pictures in. I pull one of them out. He’s so fucking gorgeous. We went to breakfast that day. He looked so good. That was right after March. After we moved in together. He looked so healthy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jess drives down the dirt road up to a large house, parking. I handed him the photo. “Oh.” He scans over it. I know he can’t straight up say that he's attractive. I'm aware of that. So he just nods and hands the photo back to me, smiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How many guys are at the house?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only three. One of them is in the hospital, and should be back by Friday.” We get out of the car, slinging my bag over my shoulder. He goes to the trunk to get my suitcase and guitar. “You play?” I nod.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I play the guitar. I wanna start a band. Just never got around to it when Brendon was here.” He nods, smiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>♡</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jess seems to pity me. I know he does. I'm not an idiot. I can read facial expressions and I can read his well. I’m sitting in the office, watching him go through my bags and suitcase. He’s folding my clothes gently, placing my jeans, shirts, boxers, socks together. We aren't really talking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like your tattoos.” I point out. I do. They're really nice. His hair looks soft. He's wearing a black collared shirt with the facilities logo on the breast pocket. He has a long chain on his neck with a silver cross where the necklace hangs down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.” He smiles at me. I try and analyze him. I spin around in a chair, looking at him once and awhile. He's sitting criss-cross on a rug. He locates notebooks. He just flips through it, not reading it. Just looking for sharps or hidden drugs. Whatever I </span>
  <em>
    <span>cant</span>
  </em>
  <span> have in rehab.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was told that the boys are at school. Their names are Geoff, Sisky, and Shane. I think. I can't stop looking at him. Sometimes he furrowed his eyebrows too hard. Something Brendon did. Fuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what days do you usually work?” There's absolutely nothing wrong with that question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Sundays. Sometimes Fridays” That means I get to see him fairly often. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why sometimes?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes I work at the girls’ houses. I don’t get to choose. I always work on Fridays but I don’t always work at this house.” Good. So he’s always around on Fridays.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Cool.” His eyes are stunning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, after dinner you and the boys are going to a meeting tonight.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What kind of meeting?” He looked at his watch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It's called CODA. It means codependency. Basically we just go to another house and the kids run the group. No therapists. You guys talk about what or who you’re codependent on.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s cool. Can I possibly have my photos of Brendon?” He sighed, frowning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have to get them approved.”</span>
  <em>
    <span> Approved</span>
  </em>
  <span>? What the</span>
  <em>
    <span> fuck </span>
  </em>
  <span>does ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>approved</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ mean?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? What does that mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You gotta have a therapist agree to give it to you. Because you can’t have pictures that could be toxic or distracting to you.” He shrugs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s not fucking toxic or distracting. He’s important.” I grit my teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'd give them to you, I would. But I can’t. Just protocol.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is already fucking bullshit. He’s my boyfriend.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, Ryan, I’m sorry. Please no cussing.” Oh. He's that type of staff. I thought I liked him. I did. I'm not so sure if I do anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>♡</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boys seem fairly nice. One of them called me a lunatic? Geoff did. Jess told him to be nice. There’s a staff named Victor who doesn’t seem to like me. We’re all sitting at lunch. Sisky is I think 14. He looks miserable and has complained about the food more than once so far.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shut the fuck up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shane, on the other hand, is very quiet. He smiled at me once and how he hasn’t looked at me again. “Do you need any salt?” Victor buts in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, thank you.” I shrug. Jess is on his phone, sitting at the head of the table, smiling at something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kyler,-” the third staff member, “you should go on your break,” Victor speaks up. Kyler doesn’t look like he should be working in a rehab facility. He came to work wearing nice clothes. None of them seem that bearable other than Jess. Who seems to tell me to keep my language down every time I cuss. Boo-hoo. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“After dinner, can you all please get ready for CODA?” Victor says and Geoff nods energetically. He's the preppy one. He hasn’t gotten in trouble once since I’ve gotten here. Annoying motherfucker.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>♡</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dear fucking god. It's beyond clean in this house. It was about a five-minute drive and now everyone’s eyes are on a curly-haired dude in the center of the room named Ian. He’s talking loudly and has a binder that has the word ‘CODA’ written on the outside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Welcome to the annual Fridays codependency meeting! We have a new kid.” He points to me. Fucking annoying asshole. Thanks for putting all the attention on me. Everyone looks at me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'm Ryan.” I nod and I hear a scrambled mess of ‘Hi, Ryan.’ coming from all the boys in the room. The staff is in another room, all on their computers. I glance over at Jess every once and a while.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, Let's all go around and state our name, case, age and where we’re from.” This Ian character seems annoying. “I’ll start. I'm Ian, I'm here for drugs, I'm 17, and I'm from Colorado.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next was Shane. “I'm Shane, I'm here for PTSD, I’m 16, and I'm from Texas.” Shanes’ voice was soft and inviting. I appreciate that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'm Sisky, I'm here for drugs and bulimia, I'm 14, and I'm also from Colorado.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, I'm Geoff, I'm here for cutting, I'm 16, and I'm from Idaho.” Who the fuck lives in Idaho?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Brandon, I’m here for a suicide attempt, I’m 19, and I’m from Washington.” It’s fucking insane how anytime I hear the name Brandon or Brendon my heart fucking stops. But it's not him. Not even close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My fucking turn. “I’m Ryan, I’m here for a suicide attempt, I’m 17, and I’m from Nebraska.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I’m Mac, I'm here for abuse, I’m 15, and I'm from Nevada.” I'm thankful for the lack of people in this room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ian starts off by doing the serenity prayer which I mumble under my breath with everyone. The only ones who don’t mumble are Ian and Geoff. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference, amen.” Amen bullshit. I learned that from Brendon in March. For fuck’s sake. I want him out of my god damn head and from what I’ve decided, I want Jess in. He seems dependable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pass when it's finally my turn to talk about the things that I’m codependent on. Where the fuck do I begin? Its all one big fucking sob story. Brendon. Dallon. Brendon again. I could say it now. I could say at the top of my lungs that I’m codependent on my dead boyfriend who was the only thing who made me feel real. Feel something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that seems like it would be too much. Too much, not for everyone, but for me. Because I can barely handle the feeling of being here. When I look over at Jess for the sixth time, he's looking at me. He looks down when he spots me looking at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My brain is reeling. I stare at my hands, count the callouses on my fingertips. Ignore the aching in my wrist. Geoff is going on about his mom. Which, in reality, I don’t care for. My ear catches something about heroin and I stand up, leaving the room. “Jess.” He looks alarmed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What's up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Break?” He nodded, shutting his laptop and starting to walk outside with me. I let my hand swing next to his once we start taking a walk. I could touch him. Too soon. This could be labeled as an issue. Becoming attached to him like superglue. Like he is my source of air now. It shouldn’t be this bad already.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But I don’t let myself touch him. Because that might scare him away. Instead, I cross my arms over my stomach. I'm cold. That's it. I'm cold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I'm not cold at all. I'm lonely. “Do you wanna talk about what's going on? If something is going on?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brendon.” He nods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about Brendon?” Easy. So fucking easy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All of him. I don’t understand why I couldn’t have just stopped it. I knew he was unhappy but not that unhappy.” I shrug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You might not believe me. But it wasn’t and will never be your fault. I’m sure he loved you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe he lied.” Jess shakes his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“From what you told me? He doesn’t seem like the type of guy to lie about that. I’m sorry that this happened to you.” I’m not looking at him but I can tell he’s frowning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you. I appreciate it.” He nods, not speaking after that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>♡</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We got back to the house an hour later. Talking to Jess was comforting. He was comforting. I’m laying in bed, flat on my back. The lights were still on. Shane is my roommate, which is nice. He hasn’t really spoken to me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How are you doing so far?” Now he has.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine. I guess. What about you?” I don’t look over. He’s reading, I think.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. I can tell Jess likes you. He’s kinda picky with who he likes and who he doesn’t like.” That felt like a breath of fresh air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t he supposed to like everyone here? Isn’t it Jess’ job?” Shane shrugs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. He’s nice to everyone but that doesn’t mean he likes everyone. He hates Geoff.” I hum. That’s good news. Right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turns the lights off ten minutes later and I finally shut my eyes. Sleep.</span>
</p><p>
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  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. RED</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I wake up to a short, older man yelling for Shane and me to get up. I sit up, looking into our bathroom which is connected to Geoff and Sisky’s room. Geoff is already up, from what I can see. He’s just making his bed neatly.</p><p>“Meds,” Shane informs me and I huff, looking at the clock. Seven. Huh. That’s kinda late for places like this.</p><p>“Cool.” I slide out of bed, walking in the hall. I’ve become a pro at stocking meds, even with room checks. We both walk to the med room and soon I spot another boy. He looks extremely tired. Shane seems to spot him and rushes over.</p><p>“Zach!” They hug each other and now I’m curious. Who is this dude? The nurse pokes me in the arm with a q-tip and I turn so I’m facing her. She hands me a tiny cup with three colorful pills in it. My method of stocking meds isn’t very cute. But it works. I swallow them quickly before opening my mouth for her to swab. She sees that I’ve ingested them and lets me go back to my room. </p><p>I instantly shut the bathroom doors and I turned the sink and shower on, placing a hand over the drain so the pills won’t slide down without my permission. Without thinking I shove two fingers down the back of my throat and throw them up, wincing at the burning. </p><p>I quickly search through my vomit and locate them. My instant reaction is to cringe at the feeling of vomit against my fingers but my brain doesn’t react. </p><p>Cleaning up puke was always annoying and a hassle. Especially in a shower. I use the small number of paper towels to clean it up. I gently wash off the pills, shoving them in my pocket.</p><p>The shower is now vomit-less and I’m happy. I brush my teeth and wash my hands. Shanes getting dressed, spooked when I walk out of the bathroom, covering his body instinctively. I look at my feet instead of him to make him less uncomfortable.</p><p>My heart skips a beat when I hear Jess’s laugh from inside the office. He’s here on this lovely Friday morning. I look at Shane, hesitating before checking to see if the painting comes off the wall.</p><p>“What’re you doing?” He notices. And I take the pills out of my pocket, showing them to him.</p><p>“You’re not gonna snitch, right?” I place the three pills behind the painting before putting it back, making sure it’s centered.</p><p>“No. Just curious. How’d you do that?” I make the ‘throw up’ motion and he nods, letting it go.</p><p>Jess peaks his head in, “Hey, Ryan. Shane.” He smiles at both of us but keeps his gaze on me for a while before leaving again.</p><p>“See? He does like you.” Shane snorts.</p><p>“Probably not.” I shrug, pulling on a sweatshirt and walking out.</p><p>♡</p><p>Zach is maybe even more annoying than Geoff. And that’s saying a lot. We chose to eat outside and Sisky isn’t as rude as I thought. He’s actually really sweet and has a nice smile. Two new staff I haven’t seen are here today. Nate and Mark. Nates an asshole. “You guys ready for school?” Geoff says.</p><p>“Wheres school?” </p><p>“Same place as the CODA meeting.” I hum. Great. I get to see that Ian dude? Fucking fabulous! </p><p>Zach has been giving me death glares and he’s just making me nervous. What exactly have I done? I feel someone’s eyes on me along with Zachs.</p><p>To my delight its Brendon 2.0. I look at him and he smiles. I smile back. I watch him mouth ‘Hey.’ I blink. Hey to you too, I guess.</p><p>♡</p><p>“Ryan!” Ian shouts from across the room. I force a smile, raising a hand to wave. I’m bored after two minutes without anything to do. Until a therapist calls my name, pulling me aside. </p><p>I get asked the same questions for thirty minutes. But the only thing I can think about is Jess. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours. I keep the racing thoughts about both of them to myself. Brendon would probably be butthurt over me fantasizing over some guy I met-- again, less than twenty-four hours ago. The obsessive thoughts become more obsessive. </p><p>The therapist acts as I’ve never done this before but I know for a fact this isn’t my first round. Brendon would be here if it were still my first round. There’s a different distraction now. Not my dead boyfriend. No. Instead, a very much alive, beautiful, sparking man who keeps staring at me. That’s the distraction. The new distraction. </p><p>A healthy distraction.</p><p>♡</p><p>School went by quick and we made it back to the house for lunch. He sat next to me and tapped my foot under the table a few times.  I’m not so sure if it was an accident but I still enjoyed it. </p><p>“Zach, you and Ryan haven’t really talked or introduced each other.” That catches my attention.</p><p>“I don’t like him.” Oh. Makes sense. Don’t worry. I don’t like myself either. </p><p>“Be nice.” Jess pursed his lips together. </p><p>“What exactly did I do?” Zach eyes Jess eyes me and then eyes Jess for the second time. Mouthing the word ‘him.’ He doesn’t like me because Jess is paying attention to me? Seriously? I try not to scoff.</p><p>“Hey, Zach do you wanna go outside? To talk?” Jess offers and he nods. “Nate. Take him outside please.” I place my hand over my mouth and I can’t help but smirk.</p><p>“Okay.” He stands up and Zach gives Jess a glare, aggressively pushing his chair forward causing it to squeak.</p><p>“What group do we have after lunch?” Geoff asks. Which ruins the brief moment of Jess and I staring at each other. Asshole.</p><p>“Family issues.” Great. I fucking love family issues group.</p><p>♡</p><p>The therapist for this group reminds me of a stale pancake. Her makeup is cakey and gross. Her outfit is, special? To say the least. Her hair has been bleached one too many times and now looks dry and frail. It reminds me of sandpaper.</p><p>“So, Ryan. Why don’t you start the check-in?” Her old, raspy voice distracts me from the thought of her ugly hair.</p><p>“Uh. I’m Ryan. Today has been my first actual day here um. It’s fine. I’m fine.”</p><p>“Can you use describing words? Fine isn’t an emotion.” Geoff is quick to hand me a piece of paper with emotions on it.</p><p>“I feel peachy.” I don’t read it. She moves on.</p><p>“Zach! how are you?” She smiles at him. Before he could answer, he stood up, walking over to me and grabbed me by my shirt. Oh no.</p><p>He pulls me up and suddenly on the floor, everyone in the room gasping. His fist is on my cheek, hard. I wince, not trying to fight back. I probably deserve it. </p><p>I’m not sure if I lost consciousness or not. I think I did. Because all I feel is his hands on my neck. Cold, large hands, choking. My eyes are shut and I can’t see anything. I hear shouting and I hear Jess’s voice. Loud and deep. </p><p>The next thing that happened was a bit different. I felt a different set of hands in mine. Warm. “Hey, Ryan? Can you open your eyes?” </p><p>Jess.</p><p>I do open my eyes after a few seconds, suddenly very aware of his hands squeezing mine. He takes them away once I sit up. I automatically frown. He locates a box of tissues, starting to wipe away the blood coming from my nose. Everyone else had left the room.</p><p>“Sorry,” I mumble and he shakes his head.</p><p>“Why? You didn’t provoke him.” </p><p>“I’m pretty sure I did, Jess.” </p><p>“He’s always angry, I’m sure it’s not your fault or doing.”</p><p>“He’s jealous because you pay attention to me I think.” He laughs. Well, kinda.</p><p>“That’s an interesting theory.” I take the tissue away from him so I can hold it to my nose. He looks tense. Zach stressed him out. Or maybe I stressed him out. I try not to think that because I’m starting to feel more and more guilty.</p><p>“Just saying.” I shrug.</p><p>“How are you today?” </p><p>“Mediocre? Not great considering my nose is bleeding and Zach tried to kill me. Probably.” Jess sighs.</p><p>“How’re your thoughts?” I furrow my eyebrows. “Are they okay?” I’m pretty sure he’s talking about Brendon.</p><p>“Fine. Miss him.” He looks over at the door and then back at me. He opens a folder he has with him and hands me a picture of Brendon. “What?”</p><p>“Got it approved for you.” He smiles and I’m kind of surprised. I don’t know how much effort it takes to get something approved but it can’t be easy.</p><p>“Thank you. So much.” He shrugs.</p><p>“It wasn’t a problem. No need to thank me.” I stare at the picture. The one of us at breakfast. I adore that photo. </p><p>♡</p><p>“Who is that?” Shane asks, pointing at the picture I’m putting on the wall. After groups and after dinner I went into my room early. It’s about 8:15 pm and Shane is now in his bed, reading.</p><p>“Boyfriend.” I sit back down. Shane thankfully doesn’t ask any more questions about Brendon. </p><p>“What happened when you and Jess were together in the family therapist’s office?” I shrug. Nothing. He cleaned up my nose and gave me the picture of Brendon.</p><p>“Gave me some tissues and that picture. Got it approved for me.” </p><p>“Do you know why Zach had a fit?” I shake my head. But yes, I do know. He was jealous of Jess and me. Which is bullshit because we just met yesterday. Jess was just being nice to me. What the fuck is wrong with that?</p><p>Jealousy is a bitch. </p><p>Zach and I probably could have bonded, honestly. If he didn’t have a plan to probably kill me in my sleep. Sisky was pretty bearable today which was comforting, to say the least. Geoff was just as annoying</p><p>“No.” I lie.</p><p>“Oh. Well. Sorry, he hit you. Seemed like he knocked you out.” Not my first fight and probably won’t be my last. Well, it wasn’t really a fight considering I didn’t fight back. </p><p>“He did knock me out. I think.” I get under the covers, pulling them up and over my shoulders. I then realize that I didn’t have a dream about him last night. I try not to smile but it seems like I’ve been set free. But, sadly, it’s only been one night and that could change the moment I fall asleep.</p><p>“Do you want me to shut the light off?” I nod, relaxing against the mattress.</p><p>“Yeah, please.” Once Shane does shut it off and settles into bed Jess comes in.</p><p>“Goodnight, Ry. Goodnight, Shane.” He smiles at me, spotting the picture on the wall and smiles wider. He leaves, shutting the door halfway.</p><p>He won’t be working for a few days which I guess is good considering seeing him three days in a row is a dumb idea. Then I wonder what Dallon is doing. I fucking hope he’s alright. He looked exhausted the last time I saw him. And he was. He was exhausted dealing with Brendons death and dealing with me almost dying.</p><p>And I’m sorry. Sorry for him. He didn’t deserve that. He’s stronger than Brendon and I both combined and he wouldn’t have ever admitted it but it was true. </p><p>I roll onto my side and press my fingers to the outside of my sleeve against my bandage. Nobody has seen my arm here and I’m glad. They changed it earlier and I didn’t look. Even when I’m showering I cant look at it. Stupid.</p><p>Brendon would have taken care of me. He would have. </p><p>Sleep seems to take longer than I was hoping for. My head starts to hurt and I struggle to keep my eyes shut, feeling the need to open them every time I hear a sound. When I do fall asleep, I’m comfortable.</p><p>I miss him.</p>
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